At the Hands of My Father
by SparkilyDragnStikers
Summary: One-shot Draco angst fic. Draco remembers his father and the memories are not nessicarily (that's spelled wrong, sorry!) pleasant. Please read and review, no flames please!


Disclaimer: nothing you recognize is mine; it all belongs to JK Rowling.

I feel the Dark Mark burning my skin, but I'm not going. Kill me if you want to, Father, but I refuse to do it anymore, and it's all because of you I'm going to die

            Did you know that you used to be my hero?

            I remember following you around the manor, I couldn't have been more than five. I tried to take long, brisk strides like you did. I wanted to walk straight and tall and proud. I tried to make my robes swish like yours did. I dreamed of being handsome and majestic and powerful and proud like you, commanding everyone's respect. I'd practice your trademark sneer. I would stand in front of the mirror, trying to make my lips curl exactly as yours did.

            I even tried growing my white-blond hair long like yours, but you told me I looked ridiculous and magically trimmed it. 

            When I was six, there was a Death Eater meeting at the manor. I was told to stay upstairs, but I had gotten thirsty and came down for a drink. I was too horrified to even scream when I saw six or seven hooded figures in masks. But then I heard your voice from behind one of the white ovals and all of a sudden was calmed. You had told me stories about a Dark Lord and his masked followers. This must be one of the meetings. I saw you raise your wand and then a green flash of light followed by a thud. I knew what it was, because you had forced me to watch as you used the same curse on my kitten, and had sort of seen you use it on a few of Mum's boyfriends. You always made me leave the room or shut my eyes, but I remember hearing the incantation and seeing the light on more than one occasion.

            I used to play Death Eaters with my toys based on they storied you had told me. My favorite bear was the Dark Lord; I even painted its eyes red and gave it a cape made from a black towel. My favorite toys were always Death Eaters with parchment masks held on with rubber bands. My other toys were Muggles, Mudbloods, and the others on the "Light" side. I was always you. I would point a stick that I found in the yard at a toy and yell, "Avada Kedavra!" and knock it over; the indication that it was dead. 

            You yelled at me once for drawing a pitiful imitation of the Dark Mark on my arm. "What if someone saw?" you had lectured. I remember you pinching my skin so hard I started crying, telling me that's what it felt like to have the Mark. Then you smacked me for my tears. "Death Eaters don't cry," you told me.  

            I would always get everything I wanted. I asked, you delivered. New broom? Sure, son. Top Box tickets at the World Cup? Of course. But there was on thing I could never get no matter how hard I tried, and I did try. I put every ounce of my effort into getting this one thing. However, it seemed that the one thing I wanted was the one thing you wouldn't give me—your love. Even just a "Good job, Draco," would have done it, but no. I always fell short of your expectations, and you would either his me or tell me what a disappointment I was. I still don't know which was worse in the long run.

            The first time I used the Crusacius Curse on me I was thirteen. By that time, my time away from you at Hogwarts allowed me to learn who I was—I no longer wanted to be anything like you. I told you I would never become a Death Eater. You used the curse and I fell to the ground, screaming. When the pain stopped, you told me that id I didn't join the Dark Lord you would kill me. This was when I became truly afraid of you.

            And this past summer, for fear for my very life, I did become a Death Eater. But my heart wasn't in it and I kept messing up, but I kept trying for you because however cruel and frightening I found you, I still respected, admired, and loved you

            I do not, however, want to be like you. You want me to, but the very thought of being as evil as you terrifies me. I don't wasn't to be a Death Eater; I want to be the Potions Master at Hogwarts. But you don't care that I'm good at potions. You only want me to be good at the Unforgivable Cruses. 

            The Mark is still burning but I am not going. This is the fifth meeting in a row I have missed. I've quit. I'm not doing this anymore and you know it. I know that you're going to kill me next time I see you, and that's why I've gone to Dumbledore. He's arranged for me to stay with him this summer. Potter's staying too, something about his aunt being killed so he isn't safe with the Muggles anymore. Dumbledore's thrilled; he thinks Potter and I are going to become the brothers that neither of us ever had. Neither of us is particularly happy with the situation, but I know I'd rather have a life with Potter in it than no life at all.

            But I know I can't avoid you forever. The time will come when I have to face you, man to man. I will go down fighting; my last breath will be drawn to support a curse directed at you.

            It is sad to think that while most people I know will live through the war, grow up, and have families and jobs, I am destined to die at the hands of my father.

Hi! Thank you so much for reading this; it's my first fic I've ever put up, so pretty please review!!! But don't be mean to me please… thanks ^_^ 


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